Bad at Being Me

A few months ago, I turned 25. Almost immediately, everyone over the age of 25 felt suddenly qualified to give me the exact same piece of advice that sounded like something they’d read on a tote bag once: your mid-twenties are for exploration. You know — for finding yourself. I was urgently instructed to try new things, as if I hadn’t been doing that for the 24 years of my life leading up to this day, and to take actions that would put me outside my comfort…